To Please The Wind

My deepest thanks to the people who have taken the time and effort to leave reviews of this story. It\'s the first thing I\'ve ever posted here, so your feedback really means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this new part.

Love,
Falcon


Chapter One (Part One) M/M,GB, NC

“The Wind Was A Torrent Of Darkness
Among The Gusty Trees
The Moon Was A Ghostly Galleon
Tossed Upon The Cloudy Seas
The Road Was A Ribbon Of Moonlight
Over The Purple Moor
And The Highwayman Came Riding, Riding, Riding
The Highwayman Came Riding Up To The Old Inn Door”
-- Loreena McKennitt

“Well. If it was always that easy to earn gold, I’d be a rich man by now.” Hesperos tossed the pouch of coins from one hand to the other, making a show of bravado that he didn’t really feel. In truth, slaughtering the priests had disturbed him -- he hadn’t expected them to be unarmed. They were supposed to be guarding their god’s chosen one! Why, in the name of hell, didn’t they have any weapons? Were they so reliant on the protection of their deity? Or had it simply never occurred to them that anyone might be sacrilegious enough to kidnap a Bride of Aeolus?

Shouts and cheers from the assembled bandits assured Hesperos that he’d done his part to rally the troops. Drawing a gold coin from the pouch, he tossed it into their midst. Then, leaving them to squabble over it, he turned his back and joined Melanthe beside her horse. Lethe, still unconscious, lay draped over the back of it, his gold hair spilling across the mare’s dark pelt like the trails left by falling stars. When Hesperos arrived, Melanthe had just finished tying Lethe’s ankles together.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Hesperos inquired, trying to envision Lethe springing to life and attacking his captors.

Melanthe didn’t even spare him a look as she flipped Lethe over on his stomach and reached for another length of rope. “For our safety? No.” Pulling Lethe’s arms behind his back, she began to loop the rope around his wrists. “On the other hand, if you plan on keeping your promise to Rasmus, then yes. This is very necessary.”

“I don’t quite follow you.”

“Empathy has never been your strong point.” Melanthe flipped Lethe back over, and touched the empty vial that still hung around his neck. “He was supposed to die today. His god, to whom he is obviously deeply devoted, wanted him to die. What do you think he’s going to do when he wakes up? Thank us?”

“He’ll try to kill himself,” Hesperos murmured, as the truth dawned on him.

“Yeah. So if you don’t care about that, then I’ll untie him. Hell, if you want, I’ll even leave my knife lying around. He can slit his wrists and we’ll be free of the brat. But part of the deal you made with Rasmus was that Lethe would live. And I know you too well. You keep your promises.” For the first time during their conversation, Melanthe’s eyes met his, and he saw the unspoken accusation in them. You keep your promises to everyone but me.

Hesperos opened his mouth, almost allowing the old defense to slip out. You were the one who left me. But there was no point. They’d been over that ground until it was trampled and lifeless beneath their feet. Instead of speaking, he glanced at Melanthe’s fingers, which had slipped away from the vial. Seeming to act on their own accord, they stroked the side of Lethe’s pale throat with a tenderness that contradicted the hard, bitter look on Melanthe’s scarred face. Watching her absent caress made Hesperos ache for the touch that had once cascaded across his own body, leaving droplets of ecstasy in its wake.

“Let me guess.” He spoke brusquely, overcompensating for his moment of yearning. “You don’t approve of this venture?”

The sound of his voice seemed to break Melanthe’s trance and she jerked her hand away from Lethe. “What?”

“You don’t think I should have agreed to the proposal Rasmus made.”

“Whatever gave you that impression? The fact that I told you not to do this?” Melanthe hurled her words at him like old keepsakes, tainted by the fury of another time, another place. “But hell, when have you ever listened to me? All you can hear are the stories you want people to tell about you. The legends you want to leave behind. So, for the sake of your ego, we massacre a bunch of innocent priests, anger a powerful god, and end up stuck with a suicidal Bride. What a fantastic plan. How could anyone possibly have objections?”

“I don’t believe in gods.”

“You don’t believe in--?” Melanthe stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “No, you do believe in gods, Hesperos. The only thing you can’t stand is the fact that you’re not already one of them.”

That hit so close to the truth, it robbed Hesperos of any reply. But he refused to give Melanthe the satisfaction of seeing him look away. So they just glared at each other like a pair of goats on a narrow path, both of them unwilling to step back an inch to allow the other passage. Then, slowly, the anger ebbed from Melanthe’s expression, and she shook her head. “Hesperos, I’m serious. I think this was a bad idea. Have you noticed how still the air is?”

He had. It was unnerving to see the blades of grass standing stiff and motionless, like someone had stopped time. “So?”

“It’s been that way ever since we took Lethe. As if all wind suddenly withdrew from the world. And now there’s that.”

Hesperos glanced in the direction Melanthe indicated, and saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Dark clouds, like oceans of ink being poured down from heaven, were swirling on the horizon. The storm looked far more violent than the showers typical of summer. And yet, it reminded him of something. Searching backward, he finally managed to snatch hold of the memory -- The Great Storm. Hesperos had been ten years old at the time, and his mother was pregnant with another child. When the storm swept over the city, she’d fallen to the floor, sobbing and praying, terrified that her child would be the one born that night. Terrified that her child would be taken away from her and murdered. But her child hadn’t been chosen. Instead, somewhere in the city, Lethe was born, forming the first strand in Fate’s curious web.

“Coincidence,” he pronounced.

“You really think so?”

Hesperos stared at the storm. He knew he should feel afraid. But instead, his skin prickled with excitement and elation. He’d defied the gods. And if he died because of that defiance, then there couldn’t be a more glorious death. But first, Aeolus would have to catch him, and he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “All I know is that it’s far too late for us to take Lethe back and apologize. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”

Nodding, Melanthe swung herself up onto her horse. “The storm is moving fast. We should find shelter.”

“Right. Keep an eye on Lethe. If he wakes up, try to talk him out of suicide.”

“What?! How did I get the job of babysitting him?”

Hesperos grinned. “Come on, Melanthe. Where’s you maternal instinct?”

But there was no humor in Melanthe’s eyes when she answered. “You killed it. Just like you killed everything else.”

Without another word to him, she shifted Lethe into a more secure position, tapped her foot against the side of her horse, and rode over to the other side of the camp. At the same moment as her departure, the first echoes of thunder rolled across the hills. But Hesperos didn’t hear the storm. Instead, he heard her voice, locked inside his head.

You killed it. Just like you killed everything else.


Chapter One (Part 2)

Slowly, Lethe’s thoughts floated back to the surface of consciousness. Death hadn’t been as bad as he thought it might be. The poison had tasted sweet, and instead of pain, he’d felt himself slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. Now, after years of waiting, he would finally gaze upon the wonders of Aeolus’s realm.

Lethe opened his eyes. And found his world turned upside down. Grey clouds swirled below him, while rolling green hills hung in the sky overhead. The shock of disorientation yanked him even further from sleep’s bliss. For the first time since waking up, he became aware of the physical sensations clamoring for attention in his body. His back ached. His hands felt swollen, prickling with an itchy sort of pain. And something kept banging against him.

Twisting, Lethe attempted to see more of his surroundings. Unfortunately, that upset his center of balance and he found himself sliding toward the ground -- which, he realized rather belatedly, was moving past at a disturbingly rapid rate. A cry of fear tore from Lethe’s throat as he tried to snatch something to stop his fall. But his hands wouldn’t move. Momentarily forgetting that he was already supposed to be dead, Lethe clenched his eyes shut and braced himself for a fall that would surely break his neck.

But he didn’t fall. At the last instant, someone cursed and seized the fabric of his bridal robe, hauling him back to safety. Cautiously, Lethe pried his eyes back open. And his situation became clear. He was laying on his stomach, on the back of a horse, his head dangling over one side while his feet dangled over the other. His hands were tied behind his back. And the hills and clouds were actually in their proper places. It was his perspective that was upside-down.

“So, you’re finally awake.” Lethe thought he recognized the voice as the same one that had cursed. It sounded vaguely feminine, but it was hard to be sure, all subtleties lost beneath the beat of horse hooves and the booming of approaching thunder. “I guess Rasmus really went heavy with the sleeping draught.”

Lethe blinked, able to hear her words, but not able to make sense of them. Rasmus? Sleeping draught? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening. It was a nightmare, or some sort of test. Yes. That was it. A test. Aeolus was testing him, to see if he was worthy. The best thing to do, Lethe decided, would be to close his eyes and go back to sleep. When he awoke again, surely this madness would be past. Surely...

By the time the first heavy drops of water fell from the sky, he was beyond feeling them.


Chapter One (Part 3)

Hesperos, however, did not have the luxury of oblivion. He was cold and soaked to the bone by the time he spotted the inn. Built next to a large grove of olive trees, it appeared to be a farm house that its owners had decided to open to travelers. Yanking on the reigns, Hesperos brought his horse to an abrupt halt, before motioning for the rest of his followers to do likewise. Then he waved to Melanthe.

Riding over to him, she didn’t look any better than he felt. The rain had drenched her black hair, and now strands of it clung to her face, creating silky shadow scars that mocked the roughness of her actual injury.

“What do you think?” He had to shout to make himself heard over the wind and thunder. “Should we risk it?”

“We don’t have much choice. If we stay out here, we’ll drown!”

Hesperos nodded his agreement. Dismounting, he walked across the muddy, straw-littered courtyard, trying to avoid the worst puddles. A group of goats, huddled against the inn’s stone wall, eyed him balefully as he approached. Ignoring them, Hesperos knocked at the inn door. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

When they’d arrived, there was already a light on upstairs. Now, another light blinked to life downstairs, and Hesperos glimpsed a woman’s face in the window.

“Hello?” he persisted. “We’re a band of mercenaries, heading south, and we need a place to spend the night.”

The woman’s face disappeared. A moment later, all the lights went out. Hesperos swore under his breath. Still cursing, he walked back to his followers, where Melanthe met him with a crooked smile. “Such is the price of fame?”

“I’m not in the mood for this.” Hesperos raked his hand through his wet hair. “Fine. If they want to do this the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way. Baruch, Kaj -- you know the procedure.”

The two men swung themselves off their horses. While Baruch stood by, Kaj undid the straps fastening a section of tree trunk to the side of his mount. About as thick as a man’s thigh, and nearly seven feet long, the log dropped easily into Kaj’s strong arms. Baruch took up a position behind him. Then, carrying the battering ram between them, they marched toward the inn.

Hesperos watched with mild detachment as their first charge jolted the door, but failed to collapse it. By now, the storm’s thunder boomed continuously, drowning out the crash of wood against wood, and the actions of his men seemed slightly ridiculous, like a child’s mime show. Their second charge splintered several planks. And their third attempt knocked the door inward. Hesperos beckoned to several of his other followers. “Go inside and round everyone up. Melanthe, you go with them. Make sure no one gets hurt.”

Wordlessly, Melanthe jumped onto the ground beside him. Her face was a mask, but as she brushed past him, in a gesture too small and brief for anyone else to notice, she gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. And again, the instant understanding passed between them. She realized how badly he’d been disturbed by the massacre at the chime maze. And she wasn’t going to say one more word about it. Hesperos shook his head. It was strange -- how their love could burn itself out, yet that bond remained. Maybe the understanding he shared with Melanthe had always been there, and their love simply took up temporary residence within it, like a bird laying its eggs in a nest built by some other animal.

Melanthe and the others vanished into the inn. As he waited for them to return, Hesperos glanced down at Lethe. Rain had drenched Lethe’s silk robe, and it looked like shimmering blue liquid, flowing over his body, highlighting every detail. Hesperos had to admit that the boy was beautiful. But pure beauty never touched him. He could appreciate it, from a sort of aesthetic distance, but he didn’t crave it. Melanthe once accused him of only being able to love beauty after it had been broken in some way, and maybe that was true.

Absently, Hesperos touched his fingers to Lethe’s throat, retracing Melanthe’s caress. Wondering what she’d found there, wondering what she’d felt as she found it. But before he could reach any conclusions, he heard a cough, and looked up to see Melanthe standing beside him.

“There were three of them,” she reported. “A man, his wife, and a daughter. I locked them in one of the back rooms with some bread and water. They should be fine until tomorrow.”

Hesperos nodded, feeling like he needed to justify his interest in Lethe. “Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

“Maybe he’s shamming.” Melanthe shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

“Have you given any more thought to what you plan on doing with him?”

“Some. He’d fetch a good price from a slaver. Those people tend to protect their investments -- I doubt they’d let him kill himself.” Hesperos glanced back at Lethe. “And, whether he realizes it or not, he was raised to be a slave. He’ll just have a less glamorous master, that’s all.”

Melanthe’s face betrayed neither approval nor condemnation. “It’s an idea,” she acknowledged. “Well, let’s get him inside, before we all float away.”

After entrusting their horses to Damian, Hesperos and Melanthe carried Lethe into the inn. Most of their fellow bandits were already inside, helping themselves to loaves of bread, rounds of cheese, and clay jugs full of wine. Others jostled for good positions around the open hearth, eager to warm themselves next to its glowing coals. Hesperos sighed. “Keep track of what you take,” he ordered. “We’re going to be paying for it.” But his words didn’t seem to slow anyone down.

Moving beyond the main area, they navigated a wooden staircase. Several rooms branched off from the upstairs hall. Hesperos headed for the closest one -- based on the room’s plainness, and the few simple toys lying on the floor, he guessed that it usually belonged to the daughter.

“I’m going to claim one of the other rooms up here,” he explained, as they dropped Lethe down on the bed. “Before everyone downstairs thinks about spreading out. Would you like to join me for a private dinner?”

Melanthe smiled. “Thanks for the invite. But I think I’ll stay here for a little longer. Make sure he’s going to be okay.”

“You’ve taken a sudden interest in babysitting?”

“Call it my...“ Melanthe’s smile grew a fraction of an inch “...maternal instinct.”

“I thought I killed that.”

Melanthe’s eyes went to Lethe, then back to him. “I don’t know. Maybe you haven’t killed as much as either of us thought.”


Chapter One (Part 4)

Long after Hesperos had gone, Melanthe stood beside room’s simple bed, staring down at Lethe. A variety of emotions struggled within her. Curiosity. Pity. And an odd sense of coming face to face with something she’d abandoned all hope in. Like an orphan girl who sells herself to survive, believing in nothing but the city’s cruelest secrets, until one day she turns the corner and stumbles on a unicorn.

Sighing, Melanthe shook her head. She was not a child. The world no longer owed her any belief in innocence or purity. And, in any case, Lethe was no unicorn. Just a young man chosen for a very odd fate. Pulling a chair over to his bedside, Melanthe dropped into it before speaking. “You can’t keep your eyes closed forever.”

For a moment, Lethe didn’t move. Then, slowly, his eyes flickered open, the movement of his lashes as uncertain and fragile as a butterfly’s first flight. Melanthe kept silent while he took in his surroundings. To her surprise, the expression that finally claimed his face wasn’t fear or bewilderment -- it was shame. “I’m in hell, aren’t I?”

Melanthe couldn’t quite repress a crooked smile. Had she really developed the appearance of a demoness? “What makes you think that?”

“I was supposed to ascend to the realm of Aeolus. But here I am.” Lethe attempted to sit up, only to discover that his ankles and wrists were still bound. “I must have failed him in some way. And he sent me to hell.”

“Not exactly.” Melanthe’s gaze fell to the vial that hung from Lethe’s neck, now partially full of rain water. What was it like to grow up carrying your own death? Could there ever be any turning back from it? Strangely, Melanthe felt the urge to help Lethe, as if by saving him, she could salvage some forgotten part of herself. “You’re not dead.”

“Not dead? But I did everything I was supposed to do! I drank the poison--”

“You drank a drug to make you sleep. Rasmus switched the vials.”

“No!” Fury ripped through the softness of Lethe’s features. “You’re lying! Rasmus would never do that! He believed.”

“Yes,” Melanthe conceded. “He believed. But, as it turns out, there are some forces more powerful than faith. More powerful than gods.”

“What?”

Melanthe thought of the first time she’d seen Hesperos. They were both younger than Lethe, back then. She’d been walking home after an evening of dramas, her mind full of gods and heroes, when he’d galloped past her on a midnight black stallion. A brief impression of strength and speed -- a dream of the freedom her life would never let her possess. “There’s love.”

She told Lethe about Rasmus. How he’d felt. Why he’d paid them to prevent a sacred marriage. When she finally finished, Lethe closed his eyes, trapping his grief behind them. “I destroyed him.”

“You didn’t--“

“It’s my fault! I liked him -- I liked him better than any of the other priests. I wasn’t supposed to like anyone. I was promised to a god. But I liked Rasmus, and I must have done something, must have seduced him in some way. Oh god. Oh Rasmus, I’m so sorry...” Lethe’s voice broke, like something fragile dropped from a great height, and he twisted away from Melanthe, hiding his face in the pillows. “Please forgive me. Please come and take me back to the chime maze...”

Melanthe reached out to take his hand, before realizing that it was tied behind his back. Embarrassed, she aborted the gesture, and sat motionless while Lethe sobbed into the cushions, all his guilt, confusion, and terror finally pouring out. As flashes of lightning froze his pain into bright, disjointed pictures, Melanthe felt her earlier compassion being transformed into a peculiar sort of panic. Yes, she recognized this part of herself. And she suddenly remembered why she’d tried so hard to kill it. She couldn’t afford to be weak. She couldn’t afford to cry.

But some part of her vulnerability hadn’t died. Some part of it had hidden away within her, waiting for the right moment to trick her into bringing it back to life. That thought shocked Melanthe so deeply that she didn’t move, even as Lethe’s breathing grew slower, and the sound of his sobs finally faded away.

Thinking that he’d fallen asleep, Melanthe got to her feet, intending to go downstairs and scavenge some dinner. But before she could leave, Lethe’s voice called to her. “What’s your name?”

“Melanthe.”

“Melanthe. You seem nice. Please, take me back to the chime maze. I have to finish what was started. Rasmus meant well, but there’s only one way for this to end. I was born to marry the wind.”

“And I was born to marry a foreign prince,” Melanthe murmured. Drawing her sword from the sheath on her belt, she walked back over to the bed, and stared down at Lethe. So. Some part of her thought it could use him to reawaken old weaknesses, did it? Fine. She couldn’t use her blade to cut out those traitorous emotions, but she could certainly use it to slit Lethe’s throat. Hesperos had made the promise to Rasmus. Not her. And it would be a mercy, compared to the life of brutal slavery Hesperos intended to sell him into. Better to die young, before he’d tasted the full range of pain that the world had to offer.

Another burst of lightning filled the room, and Melanthe glimpsed the jagged scratch deliberately etched into the blade of her sword. What if someone had shown her a similar mercy? What if she’d died before learning to ride, to fight -- before her face had been scarred and her heart had been broken?

To his credit, Lethe didn’t flinch when she swung the sword toward him. But instead of slitting his throat, Melanthe cut through the ropes binding his wrists and ankles, then sheathed her weapon. “You want to come downstairs? Have some dinner?”

Warily, Lethe sat up, rubbing his wrists. “I guess.”

“And no suicide attempts, alright? Just for tonight?”

For the first time, Melanthe saw a hint of a smile on Lethe’s face. “Fair enough.”

As they descended the stairs, several of the bandits gave Lethe looks that betrayed a mixture of curiosity and hunger. Hurriedly, Melanthe situated the young man on a bench in one corner of the room, before commandeering some bread, olives, goat cheese, and a jug of wine. Then, she returned to Lethe and placed the food on the bench between them. “There. It’s probably not what you expected for your wedding feast, but it will have to do.”

Hurt flashed in Lethe’s eyes, and Melanthe immediately regretted her casual mention of his ruined marriage. But Lethe didn’t cling to the subject. Instead, he tore off a hunk of bread, and glanced around the room. “So. Where is the famous Hesperos?”

“Upstairs. Alone. As always.” Melanthe popped an olive into her mouth, carefully biting the salty black flesh away from its hard pit. “He’s not big on socializing with the troops.”

“I heard him invite you to dine with him.”

“Ah, well. I’m not exactly one of the troops. Hesperos and I have a bit of history between us.” Melanthe washed down the salty olive taste with a large gulp of wine, before offering the jug to Lethe.

Cautiously, Lethe tilted the vessel to his lips, and then made an odd face. “What is this?”

“You’ve never had wine?”

Lethe shook his head. “Water, milk, the occasional fruit juice. Never wine.”

“Well, wine is sort of like grape juice. Old grape juice.”

“Huh.” Lethe took another, larger drink. “It’s different. I think I could get to like it.”

Melanthe considered warning Lethe against overindulging, but changed her mind. Let him get drunk. He’d been through enough to deserve a brief escape.

“You said that you and Hesperos have history?”

“Yeah. We go way back.” Melanthe picked up another olive, wondering why she was having this conversation. The answer -- that she was lonely -- swept over her like an unexpected blizzard, making her feel cold and lost. Hesperos trusted her. But these last few months, he’d been careful to keep his emotional distance, as if any trace of warmth might be enough to reignite the inferno that had nearly consumed them. As for the other bandits, they respected and feared her. But she wasn’t one of them. She never would be. So it had come to this -- telling her life story to some poor kidnapped Bride. “We were lovers.”

“He must be everything the stories say he is, then. To have earned your love.”

Melanthe glanced over at Lethe, expecting him to be making fun of her. But his expression held no such mockery. It made her wonder if he even knew how to jeer, to doubt, to disbelieve. Or if he simply accepted everything with the same faith he’d given to the priests who raised him. “Hesperos is all that the stories claim. Now. But back then, he was just an arrogant boy.”

“And what were you?”

“I was...afraid, I suppose.” Forgetting to eat the olive, Melanthe rolled it between her fingers. “Afraid of life passing me by. Afraid of being trapped in a marriage that had been arranged before I was a year old.”

Lethe took another drink of wine. As he lowered the jug, a slight, sad smile curled the far corner of his mouth. “Funny. You call it a trap. I called it destiny.”

“You have more faith.”

“Or you have more courage.” Made bold by wine, Lethe touched the scar on Melanthe’s face. “And once you escaped your trap? How did you like world beyond it?”

Melanthe lowered her eyes. Her scar seemed to burn beneath Lethe’s fingers. “Freedom was not the pleasure that I expected it to be. Learning to fight meant learning to kill. Adventure meant watching my comrades die. Love...” Suddenly angry, Melanthe snatched the wine jug from Lethe, using the motion as an excuse to disengage from his touch. “Love didn’t last forever.”

“If I’d been allowed to complete the ceremony, Aeolus would have loved me forever.”

“You really still believe that?”

“Yes.” There was no doubting the conviction in Lethe’s amber eyes. “I do.”

“So you’ll keep trying to commit suicide?”

“As long as I’m still worthy of him.”

“I wish you’d change your mind. Hesperos...if he thinks it’s the only way he can keep you from killing yourself, he plans on selling you into slavery.”

Lethe’s eyes darkened and he shrank back from her, looking betrayed. ”You’d let him do that to me?”

“Yes,” Melanthe replied, trying to hide the way her heart ached. “I would.”

Apparently her answer destroyed any words Lethe might have planned. Without speaking to her, he slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. Melanthe wanted to reach out, to touch him. But she’d grown unused to giving that kind of comfort. So she offered him the wine jug. After a moment, Lethe took it from her, but there was no gratitude in his eyes. Just the dull burn of bitter anger. Melanthe let him drink in silence.

“Melanthe!” A boisterous voice interrupted their standoff, and Melanthe looked up to see Kaj standing beside the bench. “Are you going to monopolize our plunder all evening? The rest of us risked our lives, too.”

“You didn’t risk anything but falling off your horse,” Melanthe retorted, her tone cold and hard as she thought of the slaughtered priests. “And even then, if you’d fallen on your head, you’d be fine.”

But Kaj ignored her. “Come on, temple boy,” he urged, grabbing Lethe’s arm. “I hear those religious nuts taught you all sorts of skills.”

“Kaj.” Melanthe’s hand moved to the hilt of her sword. “You’re drunk. Go sit down.”

However, before she could successfully intimidate Kaj, Lethe entered the fray. “No,” he hissed. “Why shouldn’t he have me? That’s the fate you plan on selling me into, isn’t it?”

“Lethe,” Melanthe pleaded.

Lethe stumbled as he stood, drunk on wine, fury, and despair. Staggering, he managed to fall against Kaj. “Why shouldn’t he have me? Why shouldn’t everyone in this room have me? If I’m going to be a slave, I might as well start now.”

“Lethe. Don’t do this. I can’t control all of them. Not when they’re drunk.”

“Hey!” Lethe hurled the empty wine jug into the center of the room, where it shattered against the stone floor. At the sound of the crash, conversations died and games of dice were suspended, the bandits’ fickle attention drawn to a new source. Swaying, Lethe spread his arms in the air. Offered himself to the crowd. “Come on! Who wants to be first?”

For an instant, no one moved. Melanthe prayed that Lethe’s boldness had shocked her comrades beyond action. But, as Rasmus had learned before her, prayers were never answered. At least, not where Lethe was concerned. Kaj grabbed a handful of Lethe’s golden hair and yanked the young man into a rough kiss. Then, laughing, he shoved Lethe toward another bandit. “Baruch! Give him a try. His lips are like silk.”

Snatching Lethe, Baruch made his own assessment. “Smooth as silk pillows,” he agreed. “And he smells like incense.”

“Stop it!” Melanthe yelled. “All of you! Just leave him alone!”

Kaj sneered at her. “Oh, give it a rest, Mel. You’re just jealous because no one wants to fuck your ugly face.”

At any other moment, Melanthe wouldn’t have tolerated a comment like that from Kaj, drunk or not. But right then, fighting Kaj meant abandoning Lethe. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that. “I mean it! Stop!”

But there was no stopping it. Bandits shouted, demanding their turn, while others hurled Lethe from embrace to embrace with growing ferocity. Overeager hands tore off his robe, exposing his body to caresses that left bruised flesh in their wake. As he tumbled back and forth, Melanthe caught a glimpse of Lethe’s face -- someone had bitten his lip hard enough to break the skin, and blood mingled with tears, staining his hysterical smile.

Melanthe sprinted toward the stairs. Hesperos could still put an end to this. He was the only one who could. Then, abruptly, she stopped, haunted by something Lethe had said. As long as I’m still worthy of him. As long as Lethe thought Aeolus would still welcome him, he’d keep trying to kill himself. But what could make a Bride unworthy of his god? Being gang raped by a bunch of outlaws. Slowly, Melanthe forced herself to turn her face back toward the scene occurring behind her. Kaj had tossed Lethe up onto a table, and several other bandits were quick to pin the young man in place. Melanthe’s foot moved toward the first stair.

No. If she stopped this, then Lethe would die or become a slave. This was his only chance. A bleak chance, but his only chance nevertheless. Making her face a mask of indifference, Melanthe returned to the bench where she and Lethe had been sitting, and resumed her dinner. She only flinched once -- at the sound of Lethe’s first shrill scream when Kaj entered him. After that, his cries became increasingly easy to ignore.


Chapter One (Part 5)

Hesperos sat in the room he’d claimed, examining a map. Excitement rippled through him each time he traced the path south. The northern plains were bountiful, ripe with plunder for an enterprising bandit, but he’d grown bored with them. Everyone already knew who he was. At the sight of him, people hurled their valuables into his arms. The challenge was gone.

But the southern people, famous for their warriors and exotic riches, would be a different story. A new story. He would write his name in the shifting sands of their land, until even their children learned to whisper it with awe. And perhaps the heat of a desert sun would scorch his memories, burning away the ghosts of lost love, dead priests, and stolen Brides.

Perhaps, in the dry lands, he would finally outrun this storm.

Another of boom of thunder jolted Hesperos out of his thoughts. Below him, he could hear the occasional shout or crash emanating from the inn’s main room. Hesperos sighed. From the sound of things, paying for the damage caused by his men was going to take half of the gold Rasmus had given him. But he needed to let them blow off steam. After all, they weren’t doing this for the same reasons that drove him. Fame, ambition, the thrill of risking everything for a moment of glory -- those things meant nothing to his followers. They only cared about instant gratification, easy riches. Only Melanthe had ever understood him, and these days, he wasn’t even entirely sure about her.

Melanthe. Putting away the map, Hesperos decided to go check on Melanthe, see if she was making any progress with Lethe. Melanthe’s reaction to Lethe puzzled him. Weakness was not usually a trait that attracted her. But perhaps she saw something in the young man that he couldn’t quite perceive.

Hesperos wandered down the hall. However, when he pushed open the door to the room where he’d left Melanthe and Lethe, he discovered them gone. Well. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe Melanthe had managed to talk some sense into Lethe, and they’d gone downstairs to get some dinner. Or maybe, Hesperos thought wryly, Lethe had hurled himself out the window, forcing Melanthe to search the storm for him. In either case, there was only one way to find out.

As he began to descend the stairs, Hesperos paused. The cacophony coming from the main room sounded harsher than the usual carousing. There was a vicious, demented tone to it, making him think of a frenzied beast. Hesperos increased his pace, leaping over several stairs with each stride. But what he saw when he reached the bottom froze him in place.

Lethe was lying on a table, naked, while Baruch held his ankles in the air, fucking him with fierce intensity. Oria, one of the female outlaws, straddled Lethe’s chest. In between kisses, she plucked strands of his golden hair. Most of the rest of the bandits were gathered around them, either egging them on, or fighting about who got to go next. Lethe himself was beyond making any audible noise other than a weak rasping, like someone rubbing sandpaper against an open wound.

“What in the name of hell is going on?!” Hesperos bellowed.

For an instant, time seemed to freeze. Then, slowly, the bandits turned to look at Hesperos. Oria slid off Lethe, while Baruch extricated himself. No one seemed eager to answer their leader’s question.

“Never mind,” Hesperos snarled. Crossing to the table, he yanked Lethe to his feet, although the young man swayed back and forth like a ship on stormy seas. “I can see what’s going on. What I want to know is -- who started it?”

Glances were exchanged. Finally, Kaj stepped forward. “He did.”

Hesperos glared at Lethe. “Is that true?”

But Lethe only wheezed in reply, his breath too sharp and broken to allow him the luxury of words. Disgusted, Hesperos shoved him toward the stairs. “Get up there! And for god’s sake, stay in your room.”

After Lethe’s retreat, Hesperos glanced around, expecting to find Melanthe unconscious or otherwise incapacitated. If she’d gotten hurt trying to protect that temple brat, he was going to send Lethe to his god with a dagger in his heart. Promise or no promise. But Melanthe hadn’t been assaulted. Instead, she sat in one corner, calmly finishing her meal. For a moment, relief flooded through Hesperos. Then, as so often happened between them, the emotion turned to anger, and Hesperos stalked over to his former lover.

“You!” he yelled. “I expect this sort of thing from that bunch, but you should have more sense. What the hell were you thinking? Was that your idea of dinner entertainment?”

But for once, Melanthe didn’t match his fury. She just looked at him with eyes as cold as he could ever remember seeing them. “Ask Lethe if he still wants to marry the wind,” she answered, then went back to her meal.

Again, Hesperos found himself without a reply. Giving up on Melanthe, he returned his attention to his other followers, who were distinctly easier to browbeat. “If anyone did something to reduce his value on the slave market, I’ll make up the difference by selling you!” Then, without giving them a chance to protest, Hesperos made his exit.

Upstairs, Hesperos found Lethe in the room where Melanthe had first placed him. The young man cowered in the far corner, his body pressed as tightly into the niche as he could possible wedge himself. In trembling hands, he clutched the empty poison vial, and mumbled something over and over under his breath.

“I hope you’re happy,” Hesperos snapped. “They might have killed you.”

Slowly, Lethe raised his head, staring at Hesperos from behind a veil of golden hair. Then, with one deliberate sweep of his fingers, he brushed the veil aside, revealing his bloodied lips and bruised face. His eyes seemed ready to break. “I drank the poison. I did everything I was supposed to...”

“Yeah? Well, welcome to the real world.” Hesperos crossed to the room’s bed and stripped one of the blankets off of it. “Sometimes doing what you’re supposed to do doesn’t get you shit.”

Lethe’s gaze went back to the vial, as if his heart was now as empty as that glass vessel. Tears continued to run down his face, streaking the blood, cum, and sweat, but never cleansing it. With a sigh, Hesperos knelt beside Lethe and wrapped the blanket around his naked shoulders. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the young man. Maybe Melanthe’s damn maternal instincts were contagious. “Try to get some rest.”

“The great Hesperos,” Lethe murmured. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if pulled by an invisible hook, and he touched Hesperos’s face. “All that the stories claim he is.”

Instinctively, Hesperos seized Lethe’s wrist and slammed it back against the wall, pinning it over Lethe’s head. But the young man hadn’t intended any attack. He just looked at Hesperos, while a flash of lightning illuminated the shards of madness that glittered within the amber depths of his eyes. Innocence shattered. Perfect beauty, corrupted. Hesperos felt his heart beat faster. Keeping Lethe’s wrist pinned against the wall, he ran his fingers down the underside of Lethe’s raised arm. Lethe shivered in anticipation. Then, when Hesperos’s caress brushed against a bruise, he winced, as lovely in his pain as he was in his pleasure.

Lust rushed into Hesperos, like inhaling fire. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against Lethe’s, devouring their taste of blood, tears, and wine. Lethe’s breathing quickened. The fingers of his free hand uncurled, and the empty poison vial dropped from them. But he made no move to retrieve it.

Breaking their kiss, Hesperos let his hands explore Lethe’s pale body -- teased a hardened nipple with the gentlest of caresses, before raking his fingers across the young man’s bruised hip. With flawless precision, he guided Lethe between agony and ecstasy, using one to build on the intensity of the other, until Lethe hardly seemed to know which was which. His head tossed from side to side as he whimpered in pleasure and sighed in pain. To Hesperos, each expression that flashed across his face seemed more beautiful than the one which preceded it.

Lethe’s body arched against Hesperos, like a wave cresting against hard stone. Trembling flesh, churning with currents of sensation, barely able to contain the storm that raged within it. Then Lethe collapsed back against the wood floor. Gasping. Drowning. Drowning from within. And what a gorgeous death, Hesperos marveled. No wonder the priests had wanted to feed him poison. To see Lethe like this was truly a gift worthy of the gods.

No longer able to contain his desire, Hesperos tore off his own clothes. Then, spreading Lethe’s legs, he ran his fingers over the source of the young man’s arousal, feeling it stiffen and strain against his caress. The golden hair that surrounded it was soft as a kitten’s fur. Lethe groaned, lifting his hips into the air, his face twisted into an expression which held equal parts hunger and despair. And that was all the invitation that Hesperos needed. Pressing himself against Lethe, he found young man’s entrance already slick with cum, offering no resistance as he slid inside.

Lethe’s eyes rolled back, and his mouth opened, like a child trying to swallow the sky. However, no sound came -- not a whisper, not a prayer. Nearly blind with lust, Hesperos began to thrust inside the young man. And Lethe, rocked by the force of Hesperos’s passion, clawed at the floor, trying steady himself. But the smooth wood offered no handholds. So, with a sudden burst of energy, Lethe lurched into a sitting position and grabbed a handful of Hesperos’s jet black hair, gripping it like the bandit was the last solid thing in the world. An instant later, the young man screamed his orgasm.

The sound seemed to fill Hesperos, reverberating through every nerve, and he matched it with his own howl of triumph, his own climax. You want your bride back, Aeolus? Then you come and get him. I dare you

Lethe collapsed back against the floor, nearly unconscious. Rising to his feet, Hesperos tried to figure out why his own breathing sounded so strange, so hoarse and loud. Then it occurred to him. It was simply the fact that he could hear it. No more thunder, more pounding rain.

The storm had died.